A Darker Shade of Grey
by GlorifiedGenuis
Summary: Something different happen on that Halloween night when Voldemort appeared in Godric's Hollow. Now Harry has the opportunity to begin his own adventure. His decisions change the future forever, and rips the prophecy to shreds. some HP/BL eventual HP/LV slash
1. Prologue: Unexpected Events

_A Darker Shade of Grey_

Disclaimer: The harry potter characters and plot are not mine, but all other characters depicted are mine.

Summary: Something different happen on that Halloween night when Voldemort appeared in Godric's Hollow. Now Harry has the opportunity to begin his own adventure. His decision changes the future forever, and rips the prophecy to shreds.

Pairings: Possible HP/Bella. Eventual HP/LV.

Rated M: But anything remotely around this area won't happen until much later in my chapters.

Prologue: A Turn of Events

_October 31, 1981_

_ Under the cloak of darkness a hooded figure glides through the cottage gates of Godric's Hollow. His black robes moves imposingly around his body, his intentions made clear by the appearance of a long, dark wand in his right hand. A flick of his wrist, and the front door is blasted open. _

_Screams are immediately heard as a black haired man grabs his own wand and stands protectively in front of a set of stairs as a pretty red haired woman picks up raven haired child and flees up the steps. Strained 'I love you's' are heard through the flight. The figure laughs, amused at the futility of their plight. _

_A short battle and a wave of 'Avada Kedavra' later, and a still body lays upon the ground, face down; wand still in hand and glasses a foot away, broken. _

_The figure glides up the stairs and waves his wand in front of a white door. The wood blasts apart, splinters flying like sharpened missiles. The red haired woman quickly places a child in a crib and turns around to face the figure that has invaded her home. _

"_Stand aside." The offer of life is given as promised by the figure to spare this woman's life. _

"_Please…take my life, but spare Harry." Clear tears fall from green eyes, their hue becoming even the brighter. _

"…" _No words are spoken as a flash of green light fills the room, his offer rejected, and the red haired woman falls to the ground without so much as a whimper. Her life already gone. _

_The figure now stands in front of a crib and a raven haired toddler with green eyes stare up at him knowingly. A moment passes between them both, and before the figure can change his mind he makes a decision that he would later regret._

_Bright green light, brighter than before and lasting longer than before, fills the entire room. The light clearly visible from the outside._

_A surprised shout and whisper of clothing is all that is heard. Where the dark figure once stood, now a pile of ashes and black robes. A wand rolled to the side. _

_In the crib where the solemn, green eyed baby sat…was now nothing. The crib was empty of the child and red blankets with gold letters proclaiming his name as Harrison. _

_October 31, 1951_

_ The street lamps burned bright, but were fading quickly as twilight turned into darkness. Stars twinkled in the sky and passerby's thinned in the small town just outside of Winchester. Small shops and homes give way to a winding dirt road that passes farms and ranches, before evening out into a vast plain. In the background of this land can be seen a majestic cathedral, street lamps leading the way to its 12 stone steps. Red double doors stand welcoming and arched windows of stain glass glow eerily from the candles placed behind them. Another building to the right sits in complete darkness, the curve of a slide and swing set just barely seen, and a sign proclaiming __**St. Mary Catherine's Orphanage**__ can be viewed by the faint glow of the moonlight. _

_ Time seems to stop and then ripple, before moving again. Now a cry is heard upon the wind, a baby's wale. He cries on the footsteps of the church, and shivers in the cold that the thin red blanket with gold letters won't keep out. Minutes pass by before warm light from the red door falls out onto the front step. A nun, her black and white robes swirling around her as her rosy cheeks bloom with a smile, she gently picks the crying toddler up, her cooing quieting his tears, before turning around and walking back into the light of the cathedral. _


	2. Chapter 1: Unholy Reasoning

_A Darker Shade of Grey_

Disclaimer: The harry potter characters and plot are not mine, but all other characters depicted are mine.

Summary: Something different happen on that Halloween night when Voldemort appeared in Godric's Hollow. Now Harry has the opportunity to begin his own adventure. His decision changes the future forever, and rips the prophecy to shreds.

Pairings: Possible HP/Bella. Eventual HP/LV.

Rated M: But anything remotely around this area won't happen until much later in my chapters.

Chapter One: Unholy Reasoning

"_Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate._

_Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure…_

_As we are liberated from our fear, our presence automatically liberates others."_

_-Marianne Williamson _

_April 27, 1958_

Lightly colored light filtered in through stain glass windows, giving the balcony corner a heavenly glow. Dark cherry wood, dusty with unused, filtered through the air and the sounds of the Nuns in the kitchens could be heard resounding off the walls. A young man of 8 years old, hid amidst the floating particles, in between a jutted column and the wall holding the stain glass window displaying Christ ascension to heaven. There was no door, no entry or exit, on the displayed balconies that circled the cathedral's sanctuary, but somehow the boy had managed and make this place his own personal sanctuary; a hideaway from those who claim to love all.

In his hands was a thick, black covered book, the pages turning every few moments. Another stack of books sat at his feet with titles gleaming in gold letters: _Nicolo Machiavelli's the prince, John Milton's Paradise Lost, and the Nicomachean Ethics by Aristotle_. The church's massive library had become his best friend since he had learned to read, and he found that every book he read, he memorized.

A low hiss of pain escaped beneath his breath, the lashings from the day before were still tender to the touch as he tried to not press his back against the wall. Father, the head priest of the house, had not been happy to learn that he had used his 'gifts' again. The young boy had been in the vegetable gardens, tending the tomatoes and cucumbers, when a grass snake slithered from a tomato vine onto his hand.

"Hello." He whispered to it. He watched in rapt fascination as the snake lifted its head to look him in the eye.

"You can sssspeak to me." The snake hissed back, and the boy broke into a smile at the possibility of making a friend.

"Yesss. My name is Harisssssson. What'sssss yourssss." He hissed back.

"I have no name." The young boy frowned, and then smiled again. "Well, I'll give you one. "

"How about-" A piercing scream echoed in the yard behind him, and before he could say goodbye to the kind snake, a hand had shot out to his shoulder and grabbed him, yanking him away and pulling him past corridors and stairways to a familiar door that caused many to hope, but him to dread.

The priest had called him a demon: someone using devilish powers granted by making a deal with the devil himself. If he had made a deal with the devil, he didn't remember it. It didn't matter either way, the priest had decided long ago that what allowed Harrison to be able to do what he did and the actual powers themselves, could be beat out of him. It gave Harrison no small amount of satisfaction to see the priest angry when the welts he had caused would be gone without even a scar within a day or two.

Harrison had learned at an early age to hide his abilities and even his intelligence. Everything about him wasn't normal. He spoke to snakes for crying out loud. Part of him hated himself. His abilities had caused the church to take him away from the other children orphaned there when he was 4 and he had no one in the world to talk to. No friend. Not that he had friends when he was kept in the children's ward. On the contrary, he had enemies and bullies. You couldn't trust another; that was his earliest lesson. The only one in the entire building did he trust with some measure was Mother, the head nun. She wasn't necessarily kind to him, but she didn't go out of her way to be cruel. If he asked a question, she gave an answer and would make sure he was fed when the other nuns said there was no more food.

He closed the book, the soft pages fluttering as they came together. He laid his latest conquest on top of the rest, and lifted his eyes to the window as the light had begun to fade into the night. His eyes watched as the red of Christ's robes turned purple and the golden light of his ascension turned brown. He smirked at the irony the scene portrayed. He did not believe in God or the Devil. He did believe that there was…something…out there that gave everything that he did in life meaning or purpose. There was a point to his life and a reason why he was born. Even more importantly, there was a reason he could do what he did and he wouldn't deny who he was because others didn't understand his purpose.

He smiled widely, entertained by the aged tone of his thoughts.

A bell chimed, the vibrations felt throughout the entire building. He stood up and stretched before leaping over the 30 foot high balcony and allowed that tingly 'force' or what he laughingly called magic (more like ironic), pool at his feet and slow his dissension. It was dinnertime. He sighed, lifting his head and shoulders in forced confidence, ready for the battle of getting fed.

_Later that night…_

The night blew amongst the crevices of bricks and wood planks that made up the underground hideout of the ancient cathedral. Short columns stood in various places as cornerstones of a now crumbling empire. The smoke from the fallen torches that had been carelessly thrown onto the grass, or even worse, purposely used to break open the stained glass art like eggs now laid the foundation for the smoke slowly seeping in like death's hand.

One individual set below this ruining bridge of religion. A child; chubby hands, small with preadolescence, stared wide eyed through a widened crack of concrete. Tears streamed down a dusty face like a mighty flood; yet no cries could be heard. To the contrary, the mob that ran to and fro now stood in awed silence from the lack of noise. They stood in front of the sanctuary that burned. This haven for all as it lit with fire as if in the very gates of pandemonium. The orange and red flickering lights threw themselves upon the faces of those who hate what they can't understand, transforming human forms into grotesque monsters.

The young boy gripped his mouth with one hand, in vain hope to quell his desire to scream, while the other tangled in the dirty and ripped mess of his night shirt. It was the middle of the night and the moon hung her saddened head down in the very center of the sky. A pair of soft, once white bedroom slippers were thrown to the side of the underground fortress that was only big enough for the child to walk upright in without hitting his head across the ceiling. His shaking was beginning to calm as he turned his head away from the crack in the wall. His heart beat stilled as he tried to remember the last words that were spoken to him and the precious moments before the secret door was slammed behind him.

_Sleep seemed peaceful as dancing bears that matched the carvings of his room waltzed around amongst flying cherubim and bowls of fruit. A strong hand woke him with a painful shake and a frightened voice that called his name._

"_Harrison wake up. NOW!" The hushed, but hysterical sound of mother was high pitched in his sensitive ears. Her black robes blended in with the night, but her pale face, flushed a splotchy pink, and a set of fearful blue eyes seemed to glow in the night. _

"_Mother…what is it?" His child like voice questioned the somber attitude of the one he trusted more than any other._

"_Harrison…I have made a terrible mistake. There are many men outside waiting to hurt you…I'm…sorry."_

_Tears welled in Harrison's eyes at the sight of such a strong woman broken and the hurt of betrayal. _

"_But… why Mother? What have I done?" He racked his brain for any clue to what he may have done to deserve such a punishment. Could his abilities really cause others to want to kill him? Hurt him was one thing, people hate what they can't understand, but kill was on a different level which caused his heart to beat faster and his brain to freeze in silent shock. _

"_Harrison…you are…different…" Mother grabbed and pulled him close, carefully avoiding the abnormal, lightening shaped scar formed on his head. "People, sweetheart, tend to hate what they can't understand or explain. And you, Harrison, are unexplainable."_

_Harrison reached for his forehead, feeling the soften scar buzz with what he dubbed as magic, the small hairs on his arms lifting up as if tapping into a small amount of electricity. He could hear every breath mother took in with such acuteness that it hurt the drums wedged closer to his brain. The erratic heartbeat of his body did nothing to help the throbbing pain. He didn't dare believe himself a demon like what the priest and the nuns called him, but now he truly questioned if they were telling the truth. He couldn't be that evil creature that lurks in the shadows to grasp innocent people and personally take them to their doom. Could he? What was he? Was he truly a freak of nature? Should they fear him? _

"_Mother…am I so scary? Should they fear me?" and with tears he asked a question well beyond his years. "Should I fear myself?" He looked into the eyes of one who was never really his mother. He was told long ago that he had no mother. He had been left on the doorstep of the cathedral as a wiggling baby eight and a half years ago with nothing more than clothes and a red blanket with his name on it. _

_Mother, as she was called by so many in the church, stared with wonder at the child in her arms. She smiled down at him, seeing for once the innocence of a child, not a monster. She lifted her hand and gently wiped the streaming tears away, only to grunt when more replaced them. _

"_Only you can choose whether or not you are to be feared or loved? You have done nothing to earn their fear…but neither have you done anything to earn their love. You are different. People will hate you just because of who and what you are. But only you can decide whether or not what they feel is deserved. Before anything else, Harrison, you must love yourself. Remember that for me, ok."_

_Harrison nodded his head at Mother. Suddenly, as if coming out of a dream Mother grabbed Harrison and slung him over her shoulder. His wild, black silky locks swung at the force. Running as quickly as possible with extra weight, mother glided down narrow hallways and up corridors that Harrison had never been privy to see. Finally, they both stood before a great painting of the last supper. The great king stood in the middle with hands open offering peace and bread. Harrison melted this image into his memory, his brain absorbing how the colors of the stain glass windows behind him made the painting seem almost lifelike. _

_Harrison continued to watch Mother. She was currently saying a prayer of safe passage and covering. She spoke quickly with hushed tones to the point that even Harrison's strained hearing could not pick up. Next, she lifted her hands and pushed the great painting slightly to the left, in order to open a small door in the wall._

"_Listen very carefully Harrison." She turned to the young eight year old who was known throughout the small town as having abilities '_unnatural'_ and the most intense bright green eyes; they stared at her with open book questions that may never be answered. _

"_I hope one day you will forgive me for what I have done because I see in this small expanse of a moment that I was wrong. Take this," She pushed a wad of bills into the young boy's hands. "when you go down this secret passage way, it will lead you down underneath the church. Follow it all the way down until you cannot walk any further. Make a right and follow the movement of the water. When you come out, look up on the shore to your right. There should be a small row boat there for you. Get in it…make sure no one sees you and row until you cannot row anymore. You will know which way to go." _

_With the resounding sounds of broken glass and the smell of smoke coming closer, Mother pushed Harrison through the small door. Harrison could hear the great painting being pushed back in front of the secret door as he lay in stunned silence within the darkness of the passageway. Cries of a mob could be heard with the crooked light that cast itself against the adjacent wall. Through the cracks of a wall he found himself gaping at the sight of many people gathered with torches and shotguns ready to infiltrate a holy place for an unholy reason. _

This is where he found himself.

He shuddered, the sounds from the outside seemed to quake the entire structure of the church. Tears that had flowed so freely from the bombardment of variant emotions and sudden information dried as clean tracks on a slightly dirty face. He turned his face from the crack in the wall, his heart hammering with fear and confusion. A scream was heard above, and he knew that something had happened to mother.

A quiet, almost nonexistent sob escaped his throat, as he tried his best to hold back his tears. Boys weren't supposed to cry this easy. He lifted his head slightly, a glint of determination in his wide, child like eyes. He began walking, following the path that seemed to go deeper and deeper beneath the cathedral, just as mother had stated.

He walked and walked. His legs began to shake at the strain of walking for so long, and his knees were scraped from falling twice on the roughed ground. His heart lifted slightly when he came across the sound of water. It was too dark to really know where he was, but he had spent enough time in the darkness for his eyes to become attuned with the lack of light. He could see that the passageway had ended and opened up to an underground river. He turned right and followed the river as it curved left, then right, and then left again.

The open, slightly lightened night sky greeted him as he walked out from what looked to be a cave, onto the muddy banks of a river. Looking beyond, he saw a crude boat floating haphazardly on the water. It was tied to the shore by an old rope. He quickly untied it, and got in, making sure to look around for any persons who might see him. The reeds on the shore were so tall that if someone was hiding, he wouldn't have known if they were there. He waited for a moment, being ever so cautious for an 8 year old. Then with a strong push he walked the boat into the water, and jumped in as quietly as he could. He paused for a moment, listening to the whistle of the wind as it bounced off the high grass.

Nothing stirred. He grabbed the small paddle in the boat and began to quietly paddle himself down the river. The moonlight gleamed over head, given the atmosphere a romantic glow that clashed with the actual tension that could be seen in the tightness of the boys shoulders and the nervous jumping he was prone to with every sound produced in the night.

He paddled and paddled…and paddled. His arms began to tire and the river began to widen. He lifted the paddle into the boat and fell back, his eyes reflecting the moonlight above. He sighed, a sound beyond that of a child. Thoughts raced through his over developed mind. There were too many questions and too many decisions that needed to be made.

He sighed again. He'd wait for the morning to come before he'd make any decisions. He allowed his eyes to close, and before he knew it, his exhaustion had carried him to the world of dreams…the sounds of a familiar woman's screams in the background.

Unnoticed, the boat continued its journey following the natural current of the river.

Sunlight gently touched his face; it's warmth like a sweet caress over his cherubim like cheeks. Delicate eyelashes blinked open revealing dazed, green eyes to the world. He sat up, disturbed by the soft sloshing of water against the boat.

A thin veil of woods lingered on the shore, and with the light of the sun he could see a road beyond it.

"What to do, what to do?" The eight year old curled up within the confines of the boat, his head setting on his knees as his looked at the road beyond the woods, his mind weighing the pros and cons of his possible decision.

_I will have to leave the boat behind. But if I stay out in the open, it is a possibility that those people will see me again and come after me. If I follow the road, I'll probably find a city or a town with information. When I get there, I probably will be able to make some decisions then. I'll have to stay within the safety of the woods. _

Decision made he lifted his body out of the boat, his sleeping shirt and flannel pajama bottoms were worn ragged at the edges, and his feet were bare since his slippers were lost on the escape from the cathedral. He allowed his feet to walk carefully over the sharpened rocks and broken tree limbs as he made his way through the woods, following the road westward.

He continued walking, the time passing by unnoticed with the consistency of his movement. Monotony allowed for his mind to separate from reality, his thoughts speaking loudly in order to be recognized.

_It seems that I won't be able to trust anyone again. Even if mother apologized, she was still the one who was most afraid of me, since she was the one who caused the others to be so afraid of me that they attacked the cathedral. No matter what I do people will be afraid of me, It's not like anyone else can do what I do. I could try and hide what I can do and be normal…but that would be denying who I am. I don't want to live my life denying me because other people are afraid. Let them be afraid. I will choose whether I want to be loved or feared. That's what mother said. But most of all…I choose to love myself. Since there is no one else who will love me, I will love me. I will take care of me. _

He allowed a smile to light up his face, joy he had never known before growing inside himself at the promise in his thoughts. The feeling of concrete beneath his feet, jerked him to awareness.

There before him, an avenue that led to the bustling city of London sat before him. The clock Tower of Big Ben could be seen over the towering buildings of the city, cars and screaming children could be heard all around. He stood there for a moment, taking in the situation he found himself in.

Big red, double-decker buses and small, shiny cars of varying colors honked and blared their engines as they sped down criss-crossing and adjacent roads. Steam could be seen frothing over small buildings from the trains. The scent of fuel and croissants hung in the air as a pungent aroma so strong that it nearly pushed him back into the woods he had stumbled from. Small brick building, which grew into taller businesses further into the horizon, lined wide sidewalks with oddly shaped and colored signs pleading for customer's to come to such places as _George's Clean Cuts_ and _Louise's Monday Morning Café_.

He clutched his hand around the wad of bills and calculated what he had. It was only enough to buy something better to wear and a small meal. Looking around he saw a small clothing shop and stepped in. Twenty minutes later, he stepped out wearing a pair of second hand black slacks, soft soled tennis shoes, and a white button up, long sleeved shirt. He threw the torn and raggedy clothes in the nearest trash can, and thanking whoever was running the show that he hadn't drawn the curios gazes of any passing adults.

The scent of fresh doughnuts led him down two blocks, closer to the city of London, and to a street vender who smiled at him, a dimple forming on his cheeks right above his overly thick mustache.

That's when he saw it.

It was beautiful and seemed to glow with white light as the sun hit its marble exterior.

It was the London Library. There was no telling how many books or things he could learn about in there. He stood there for a moment, gawking, before shoveling his doughnut in his mouth and running up the ten steps to the door.

Stepping into the coolness of the building, the air conditioner blowing his hair up and around his head like a dark halo, he took in the magnificence of what he was seeing and all thoughts and worries of the last day were forgotten for that one moment. There were shelves upon shelves and isles upon isles of books. Books that's seem to be so imprinted in the wall, that it was entirely a possibility that the building itself was built upon books instead of a more durable substance.

A red wood desk stood at the front, with a pretty middle aged woman behind it. She wore a pale pink checkered dress, and glasses with a line of pearls at the ends that stretched to around her neck like a necklace. Her hair was rusty red, and curled to pile on top of her head. Frown lines and laugh lines were in equal abundance across her face. When she noticed him, her grey eyes crinkled at the ends as she waved him over to her.

"Good morning young man. Can I help you today?"

He paused for a second, the distrust of others he had pushed to the back of his mind rising up like a lion. He took a silent, deep breath before answering.

"Yes mam. I wanted to look at some books." She smiled again.

"The children's section is over there, dear." She pointed to the right. Three short shelves full of fairy tales and colorful pictures could be seen. He kept his face blank in order to hide his distaste.

"Yes mam." Stood there for a moment, watching as her head went down to continue her work. Making sure she wasn't paying any attention to him, he slipped off to the left in the direction of the books on philosophies, sciences, and laws.

Grabbing a red bound book and finding a corner where he wouldn't be noticed, Harrison found himself deep in the riches of Sigmund Freud's _Civilization and Its Discontents. _

"…_It is impossible to escape the impression that people commonly use false standards of measurement - that they seek power, success and wealth for themselves and admire them in others, and that they underestimate what is of true value in life…"_

He paused, his eyes still staring at the page's letters but not moving. When he looked up, he noticed the librarian's eyes on him, wide with surprise and curiosity. He could feel his eyebrow twitch in agitation, but tried to continue reading.

He sighed.

He closed the book, memorizing the page number, and then placed it back on the shelf. He wasn't going to be able to read much more now, not with a hawk staring at him so unwaveringly. Plus, now that he thought about it, he had things to do before he could sit down and truly enjoy reading. Walking around a few tables, he politely said goodbye to the librarian (who was still staring at him like he was a newly discovered creature), and then left out the doors. The sun was high in the sky, but the heat said it was well after noon.

He paused for a moment, allowing the sun's warmth to take the cool edge from his cheeks and thought about the things that needed to be done.

_I'll need to find a place to stay. I could look for another orphanage, but then there's a possibility that what happened at St. Mary's will happen again. I'd much prefer to have my freedom anyway, even if I am only 8 in the eyes of adults. Speaking of which, I need a new name. I don't want to risk those people from Winchester finding me. I'll also need to find a way to get some money. I'll need to pick pocket, at least for now, until I can find a steady way to make money. Maybe learn to paint or something. It won't be hard to steal; I was already doing that with the nun's and other kids at the church. _

Alright: First I need to find a place to stay.

For the next couple of hours Harrison walked the streets of downtown London, his hand slipping quietly into purses and pockets at random intervals, as he looked for a place he could occupy for an extended time and not be discovered. His pockets began to weigh with the weight of his collection when he did come across a place…and it was definitely a place that no one would actively search for him in.

In the Center of London, about four blocks from the library, stood the marble building of the London Coliseum. It was an Opera house, and it's base lined various windows that led down into the recesses of the building. His curiosity had led him to slip into one window, and he soon found himself in an abandoned room that was sealed with many locks, dusty from old age, and filled with varying containers of clothes, costumes, and decorations. It was altogether, rather convenient for him and he was beginning to wonder if he was being set up. It couldn't all be this easy. He quickly shook it off, he wouldn't look a 'gift horse in the mouth', as they say, although he didn't really get the saying. If something does rise, he'll deal with it when it comes up.

He walked around the room, satisfied with his discovery and decision, and began moving things around to suit his needs. A pile of clothes and costumes later, and he was finished with a make shift bed. He had chosen a corner furthest away from the door and window, just in case the Opera house decided to drop in. Sitting down in the pile, his hands pulled out the wads of bills and bulky wallets he stuck into his pockets.

He had about 400 pounds all together. A rather nice amount for one day of pick pocketing. If he was good, he could make last for at least two weeks. That would put enough time in that no one would become suspicious of him.

He smiled and leaned against the wall, watching as the sun streamed in through the window.

Now a new name.

He thought about is, even as his hands lifted up and he allowed that familiar and comforting power to flow through them. He willed the dust to disappear, and with a quiet whooshing sound, it did.

He smirked and looked down at his hands, observing the crossed lines. He sighed in deliberation, before whispering beneath his breath.

"…Cornelius…Cornelius Hadrian…" He'd come up with different last names as he went, just in case he needed to shake off someone too curious.

He leaned back and became comfortable quickly. His eyes drifted close, and his mind led him into a restful sleep now that the most immediate decisions had been made. Even alone with no one to look after him but him, his future looked brighter than it ever had before.

I hope you all enjoyed the chapter so far. I'm nearly done with the next one and it will be posted soon.

Glorified genius.


	3. Chapter 2: Enlightenment

_A Darker Shade of Grey_

Disclaimer: The harry potter characters and plot are not mine, but all other characters depicted are mine.

Summary: Something different happen on that Halloween night when Voldemort appeared in Godric's Hollow. Now Harry has the opportunity to begin his own adventure. His decision changes the future forever, and rips the prophecy to shreds.

Pairings: Possible HP/Bella. Eventual HP/LV.

Rated M: But anything remotely around this area won't happen until much later in my chapters.

"Freedom is obedience to self-formulated rules."  
― Aristotle, _The Nicomachean Ethics_

Chapter 2: Enlightenments

_June 24, 1959_

When he awoke, the sun streaming into his home, he knew today was going to be different. His powers were swirling with agitation, and almost…jumpy with anticipation. He didn't know what he had to be agitated about, but he trusted his powers. He quickly sat up, and looked around his room with a wary air of suspicion.

Nothing.

Yet.

He grabbed a bowl of water at his side and washed up, before dressing in a nice set of black slacks, a fitted button up white shirt, a black suit jacket, and an emerald green tie with a light stripping of silver (remember this is 1959-everyone wore suits back then). He stood there, ready to go take on his normal routine of finding something to eat, but unable too with his building anxiety. It would be better if he was prepared, then to be caught unprepared.

He picked up his leather back pack, a birthday gift to himself, and stuffed it with his meager amount of clothes and his jar of savings. Not a second after snapping it closed, did he begin to hear the rustling of keys and obvious sounds of someone beginning the labor of unlocking the dozen locks on the door. His adrenaline kicked in and he found himself jumping over boxes, only after knocking over the bowl of water (of which he had cursed like a sailor under his breath), and climbed the box that would let him slide through the window to the outside. He managed to gently close the window, just as a jolly looking woman and a burly man burst through the door.

He smirked at their confused faces. They must have been ready for a wave of dirt and dust, but it never came. The room had been spotless since he had moved in a little over a year ago. He sighed and slid down a wall in front of his favorite vendor, his mouth munching on a buttered croissant with cream cheese.

He was in a bit of a conundrum.

He knew he couldn't go back to his home, it was too much of a risk and he was sure that the man and woman who had come in would be suspicious, if not for how clean it was, then for the spilled bowl of water. He'd have to move on and find a new place. Perhaps he had stayed too long in London. He didn't mind traveling.

He thought about the past year. It had been the best year of his life. He had not suffered at the hands of the head priest, his back showing no form of beatings, there had been no shouts of 'freak!', or even worse, the soft whisperings of the nuns claiming him as the son of the devil. No. It had been peaceful and extremely educating since he spent his time in the library reading through so many books it was mind boggling. The Librarian had finally gotten the nerve to ask him if he was truly reading, and he had told her that he was. He didn't see a reason to lie to her and he soon found a benefit in telling her the truth because she would always point him to the right books and would sometimes bring books she thought he would be interested in.

He had learned and become fluent in various languages; French, Italian, German, and Latin. The last came easier than the rest, surprisingly, and he was beginning to learn Russian. His obsession with learning sciences, laws, and philosophies also reflected in his readings. He had taken to carrying around a black notebook with his thoughts and observations in it. Sometimes he would read a phrase in a book that really stuck with him, he'd write it down and then take the rest of the day to apply that observation to the people who he would see. Sometimes he'd find he'd disagree with the author, and other's he'd find himself expounding even more thoroughly on the author's own observations with his own.

He had lived his entire year on the formulated opinion of Aristotle:

"Freedom is obedience to self-formulated rules."

But today…today he was thinking of a different quote when a burly hand landed on his shoulder and yanked him up into the face of a grotesque individual who smelled of excessive alcohol. The man screamed at him.

"FREAK! I knew I recognized you!" A fear began to crawl into the pit of Cornelius' stomach at the realization of who this man was. It was the head priest.

"How _dare_ you be ALIVE!?" The man began to shake him, his voice causing bystanders to pause and gasp at the sight. "I'll KILL you now!" Cornelius watched in stupefied fascination as a huge, roughed hand rose to hit him.

All he could think of was another quote by Aristotle:

"Bad people...are in conflict with themselves; they desire one thing and will another, like the incontinent who choose harmful pleasures instead of what they themselves believe to be good."

Unfortunately, he currently disagreed with Aristotle. This man didn't look conflicted at all.

A fist flew across his vision as the vendor he had become acquaintances with over the year punched the priest in the face, the force causing him to release Cornelius before stumbling back in surprise. The red faced Vendor turned to him, his expression angry, "RUN NOW!"

Cornelius nodded, wasting no time as he turned around and ran. He ran two blocks before he saw it. He walked this neighborhood a couple of times, but only now did he notice this random black building stuck between a café and a book store. He ran for the door, his power's tingling at the feeling of opening the door before he burst in and closed the door behind him.

It was a medium sized pub, and extremely dark. Various individuals, all strangely dressed in what looked to be robes sat at a couple of tables. A sign over the bar read in brown letters, _Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron._ It was a strange name for a pub, but he didn't allow his mind to linger on the sign for too long as he spotted a man in a green sweater wiping out a glass mug behind a bar. He walked up to the man cautiously and sat on a bar stool.

"Excuse me, sir." The older gentleman was a brunette with locks that curled around the edges of his ears and matching goatee. His eyes were a kind hazel and he looked to be around his early 40's. He smiled at Cornelius before placing the mug down and standing in front of him.

"How can I help you young man?" His voice was deep and slightly rough, its tone giving the insinuation that he could be both kind and brutal. Cornelius assumed it was necessary in order to be a bar tender.

"Um…" he didn't really know how to explain, so he opted for the truth, "I was running from a bad man when I got here. Could you tell me where I am? And, perhaps, let me stay in here for a little while. I'm a bit nervous about going back out there." He watched in curious fascination as the kind eyes turned to steel.

"A bad man, eh? Of course you can stay in here. Don't worry about him, I'll take care of you if he comes for you. And you're in The Leaky Cauldron, of course! The best wizarding bar and restaurant in all of Britain! If I do say so myself." The man said this a bit under his breath in a conspiratorial manner.

But Cornelius was still stuck on Wizarding.

He frowned. The man clearly noticed it when he raised an eyebrow.

"Wizarding,sir?" He watched as the man's eyes widened with realization. "I mean…wizards or magic doesn't exist. Everyone knows that."

"Do they now?" The man laughed under his breath humorlessly, before taking out a stick and swirling it around. Cornelius was shocked to see a glass mug lift in the air, only to be filled with an amber, frothy liquid. It flew over to him and sat gently on the bar.

He could feel that his mouth was open and quickly closed it, his brain overworking with an immediate bombardment of questions.

"You're a wizard too, you know?" His brain shut down at that, and watched the man watching him with a knowing look. "You couldn't come in here if you couldn't wield magic."

It all made since now. Absolute since.

His powers were magic. He could wield magic. He felt a heady combination of euphoric happiness at not being alone, and disappointment at not being unique.

"Tell me, why was the 'bad man' after you?" He paused in his thoughts. He was cautious about telling him, he wasn't one to tell people about his past. For him, it was just that, the past. He would learn from it, but he wouldn't be ruled by it.

But it was best to not lie often, otherwise, it would be hard to keep up with all the lies and it's hard to gain trust when you lie too much. It's better to tell the truth often and lie sparingly.

He decided to walk on the side of caution.

"In short? The man use to be my…caretaker…and believes that I should be dead for my demonic abilities." He said it with such a flat and cold tone that he nearly scared himself. Nearly.

The gentleman in front of him, however, had become livid. Where toned skin use to be had become red and splotchy from the exertion of holding in his fury. Cornelius could feel the _magic_ of the other man as it swirled around him, it's potency breaking some of the bottles behind him.

With a deep shuttering breath, the man calmed down, and his magic seemed to seep back into him.

"Alright! You're staying here. We have rooms you can stay in upstairs. I will not have you going back out there to that…_that ignorant, pompous, self-righteous, …MUGGLE!_"

Muggle? What in the world was a muggle?

He pondered this for all of two seconds before the realization hit that he now had a new place to stay. There was so many things he could do and learn here. _Magic. _It his world up to a thousand and one more possibilities that he couldn't even fathom if he tried.

"…Thank you…Mr…?" He stuttered out the gratitude and question, his mind still in shock at the revelation of the news he had gotten.

"Mr. Thomas." The man beamed at him, and he smiled genuinely back at him.

He knew today was going to be different.

He had conversed with Mr. Thomas for another hour and a half. In that short span of time he had learned so much.

The Leaky Cauldron was actually a gateway between the non-magical world and the wizarding world. Muggle was a term given to those who didn't have magic. Wizards who were born to a pair of muggles were known as muggleborn, and although they had the same rights as other wizards, they were still looked down upon in society as being 'less pure'. Cornelius didn't really understand the foundation for this reasoning, but knew that he had plenty of time to figure it out.

Pure bloods were the wizards who were born to a wizard and a witch and who could trace their lineage back at least a couple of centuries. Pure bloods tended to intermarry in order to keep the blood 'pure'. Those who were born to a muggle and a witch or wizard were known as half-bloods. Half-bloods, in short, were a step up from muggleborns and a step down from purebloods in society.

They even talked about magic itself. Magic was also catergorized into three seperations: Dark, Light, and Grey.

Light wizards were seen as paralleled with good, but Mr. Thomas's unbiased opinion clearly stated that this was not always true. Light was merely a type of magic and those who wielded it could be just as manipulative and dangerous as dark wizards.

Dark wizards were considered parallel with evil. Cornelius immediately felt for their plight considering that he too was misunderstood and considered evil just because of the fact he could do magic. He bet that there were evil wizards out there, but whether they used dark magic or light magic was relative to the individual. He vowed to be open minded about it. He would judge the man by the content of his character, not the color of his magic.

He quickly pulled out his black note book and wrote it down as a personal philosophy.

Mr. Thomas saw the notebook, and out of curiosity, asked what it was. He asked if he could see it, and with a slight amount of hesitation he gave it to the man.

He watched as the man perused it, his eyebrows rising up to near his hair line as he flipped each page. He finally closed the book and handed it back to Cornelius.

"Cornelius, I can honestly say that I have no doubt that you will become an exceptional wizard." Cornelius took his book and smiled, surprised at the serious honesty displayed.

"I hope to not disappoint." He responded.

They continued their light banter, lightly brushing the topic of gray wizards. Gray wizards could do both light and dark magic, but were so rare that not much was known about them; the last official family of gray wizards having died out a couple centuries before.

A mischievous glint appeared in the eyes of Mr. Thomas.

"Hey Cornelius, do you want to see a little bit of the wizarding world?" Cornelius became immediately wary of that look, but his curiosity won out and he quickly nodded.  
Mr. Thomas turned slightly and yelled to the kitchens that he was going out for minute and he'd be back. A growled yell of 'ALRIGHT' was heard, the tone hard to identify as either male or female.

Mr. Thomas led him to a back door that opened onto a back room closed off by a brick wall. He looked over at Mr. Thomas with a look of confusion and growing suspicion. Mr. Thomas just shook his head.

"One thing to remember in the wizarding world Cornelius is that nothing is as it seems." He pulled his wand out and tapped the wall on varying bricks in a pattern. To his astonishment, the walk seemed to pull from the middle and roll away to the sides. When he looked beyond, he could feel his heart stop and then speed up to a shattering speed. It was beautiful.

Shops on both sides of a long stretch of road were filled with the loud sounds of figures in robes of every color, sounds of their chatter and owls flying overhead could be heard. The shops themselves were strange, the way they were built angling in almost impossible ways.

He could hear Mr. Thomas laughing at him, he quickly gathered himself together before smiling over at the man. For some reason, he trusted Mr. Thomas more than he had any other human being in his life, and he had only known the man for a little over two hours. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, but decided to push it all to the side for more in depth thinking later on.

They walked down the alley and before they went into any shops, Mr. Thomas led him to a building that was both similar and completely different then the cathedral he grew up in. Gringotts. It was the Wizarding bank in Brittain, and was run by goblins. Cornelius had never seen a goblin before, and was impressed by them when he did come across one.

His observations told him that goblins were shrewd business men; money talked, and if you didn't have money to talk, then they weren't talking to you.

It was this observation that led to a train of thought, which ended with a question Cornelius wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Who was his parents? Were they wizards and did they have money in gringotts? What if they were dead and he had an unknown inheritance? How could he find out? Did the magical have ways to finding out, since this type of science was something just being discovered in the muggle world?

As he waited for the goblin to take Mr. Thomas to his vault, he felt his curiosity piqued. It didn't matter about his parents; if they were alive, he'd ignore them, and if they were dead then they had a good excuse for leaving him in that God forsaken place known as a church.

The irony of that thought was not lost on him.

When a goblin came to get Mr. Thomas, he stepped in for a moment.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Raganrok, I hope your gold is flowing bountifully today." He smirked internally that his observations had hit true when the goblin looked over at him in genuine surprise, and with a glint of respect.

"It is, thank you, Mr…" Cornelius smiled respectfully, his mind quickly supplying a name.

"Evans."

"Mr. Evans, then. Is there something I can help you with?" The goblin looked a bit doubtful, but it was clear that they were the type of creatures that give respect, when given, and no time sooner.

"Yes actually. I was wondering if there is a way that I can discover who my birth parents were, or at the very least, whether I have an inheritance. I unfortunately, did not know who my parents were, and wouldn't mind knowing my lineage." He watched as the goblin seemed to be surprised again. He wasn't surprises to see the calculating glint, as the goblin reassessed him.

'There is a way to find out, but it is expensive. We can take a sample of your blood and your magical aura, break them down and trace their origin. It won't take long to do, no more than hour. The spell won't tell who exactly your parents were, but it will give a last name if there were of magical ancestry and no name at all if they were of muggle ancestry."

Cornelius kept his face impassive, but inside he was ecstatic.

"And how much is this process?" He knew he had a good amount saved up from his year of pick-pocketing, but wondered if it would be enough. Plus, if he spent it, he may not have an inheritance at all. Then he would be completely broke.

He sighed internally. Decisions, decisions…

"It would be about 1500 galleons, Mr. Evans." He stood for a moment confused.

"Galleons?" Mr. Thomas caught his confusion, and helped out.

"Galleons is a type of wizarding money. 1500 galleons would equal about…1000 pounds." He sighed. He had enough…more than enough.

"Alright. I want to go through with this process. Is there a place that I can exchange my muggle money for wizarding money?" Ragnarok nodded before walking him over to a teller who quickly exchanged all of his saved up money to wizarding money: a total of 3000 galleons and 26 knuts. Mr. Thomas helped him learn the money, and he quickly gave the right amount to the waiting goblin, who took it with greedy hands.

"Another goblin will be with you shortly." Ragnarok bowed to Cornelius, before directing his attention Mr. Thomas. "Follow me, please." He followed, throwing curious gazes back at Cornelius, clearly wondering where he had gotten so much money.

Cornelius waited a couple of more minutes, before another goblin came to get him. This one was much older, it's long white beard tucked with the belt of its prim suit.

"Good afternoon, my name is Gorgook. I will be servicing you today."

"Good afternoon to you as well, I hope your riches double in abundance for your services." This goblin also widened his eyes in surprise, before nodding in respect, and then turning around. Cornelius followed him into a corridor, its length hard to calculate. After at least ten minutes of walking, they stopped at a dark wood door.

Gorgook opened it, before waddling and jumping into the seat behind a large mahogany desk. He gestured for Cornelius to take the seat on the opposite side.

The goblin then pulled out a black box and gold in well. He then grabbed a clean parchment and an extremely long, black quill. Reaching into the box he pulled out a rather deadly looking dagger with an ivory hilt, a blade made of swirling purple mist. It was strange sight, the blade, because it looked both sharp, yet so unsubstantial, that it could have been smoke. He also pulled out a glass vile of a pink liquid.

"First I am going to take a sample of your magical signature. Let me see your hand. Cornelius his hand over the desk, and the goblin allowed his hand to rest over it, but not touching. Cornelius watched curiously as the goblin to chant under his breath, something about _origo_, before a translucent, silvery stand of…magic, seeped from his hand and into the pinched fingers of the goblin. Said goblin quickly dropped the sample into the pink vile.

"Now I need you to prick your finger with this blade, and allow a few drops to fall into the ink well."Cornelius didn't hesitate, this causing the goblin to raise an eyebrow, but didn't question it. Soon, three drops a of red liquid fell into the ink well. He watched attentively as the goblin then poured the once pink liquid, which had now turned a silvery blue into the ink well. He then quickly took the black Quill, dipped it into the container, and let it stand on it's own over the blank piece of parchment.

He watched as it began to write.

He couldn't really read it from his position, but he could observe the slight paling of surprise on the goblin's face as he read over the document.

Finally the quill fell over, the information completely written down.

"This is extremely surprising, Mr. Evans. You don't just have two magical lines to branch from, but three, and those branch off into many others."

Cornelius was confused.

"What do you mean?" The goblin gave him the parchment.

**Cornelius Hadrian Evans**

**Father: Potter line**

**Pureblood**

**Current Hier of Gryffindor**

**Magical Father: Black Line**

**Pureblood**

**Lineage of Ravenclaw**

**Mother: Grey Line**

**Decendant of Pureblood Line**

**Lineage of Slytherin**

**Lineage of Morgana**

**Inheritance:**

**Grey manor**

**The Library of Mithilda**

**Valdor Cottage**

**Vaults: 625, 721, 143, 972**

Cornelius sat in shock. This was a surprise. So he was a pureblood…that would make life easier for him. Not that that mattered much to him, he had desire to make people see his worth. He already knew that would come naturally. But this, he could only wander what it all meant. At least he could ask questions.

"What's the difference between my Father and my Magical Father?"

"A Father is by blood, a magical father is something like a godfather in the muggle world."

That made since, he guessed.

"Alright. What about my mother? What does it mean for her to be a descendant of a pureblood line, and not a pureblood like my father?" The goblin hummed in thought.

"It means that your mother was probably either a squib or muggleborn whose parent was squib from the line of Grey." He nodded his head.

"Alright. Can you tell me about the families? Are the lines still alive?"

"The Potter line is still alive, but there has yet to be an heir to that line produced. Except for you of course. They are traditionally seen as a light family, but they have dark magic ancestry. The Blacks also are alive and have an heir. They are and have always been a dark family. The Grey line, which is the most surprising, was thought to have died out centuries ago, and was debatably one of the most wealthy and well known families of the magical world. They were notoriously grey wizards, able to draw on the power of both light and dark magic, not to mention their own family magics. Some believe they were killed off because of this power; assassinated. But no one really knows."

Cornelius nodded, taking all of it. He would ignore the Potter and Black line then. Mostly Potter anyway…although he had to wonder if there was more to the story if the Potter's then have an heir. Why would they give him up if they needed an heir to carry on the line? It was such a mystery, and one he wasn't sure he either, wanted or cared to know. The black side was a god parent…and although they were responsible for him, they weren't his blood. He decided to play the fence with that particular family line.

The grey line, however, was different. It was probable that his mother was dead. She could still be out there, but he just _knew_ that she wasn't. She was dead, and for that he could forgive her.

"How do I get my last name changed to Grey?" The goblin nodded, before pulling out some documents.

"Do you wish to except the Lordship of the most noble and ancient house of Grey? This will give you emancipation, although you won't be able to cast you Wizingamot votes until you are 15 years old." He thought about it, weighing the pros and cons of both.

"Yes, I will accept Lordship."

"Here, sign your name at the bottom of this document and stick your finger in the key hole of this box."

He quickly signed the parchment, liking the sound of his name with the new ending. _Cornelius Hadrian Grey. _

He looked suspiciously at the box which sat innocently on the desk, it's lid made of purple satin and velvet trim.

He stuck his finger in…and quickly pulled his finger in when he felt the prick of a needle.

"It needed just a little blood, Mr. Grey, in order to verify your heritage."

"Yes, well,…you could have warned me first." He stated agitatedly, his ire only rising as the goblin smirked at him while simultaneously opening the box.

"Yes, I could have." The goblin only grinned more at the glare thrown his way.

Inside the box lay a very delicately carved, silver ring. He picked it up, and placed it on the index finger of right hand. The ring tightened on his finger, the carving sighed as if missing a long lost friend. He smiled as he looked closely at the engraved figure, it was a winged serpent.

"Ophies Pteroti. It is a winged serpent said to guard the frankensense groves of Arabia. I am assuming that the Grey's chose this as their symbol because of the duality of the creature. It is a snake, an reptile that is considered evil and naturally a land animal, and yet has wings to fly, making the air another home. The Grey heritage is also like this, trying to find balance in duality."

Cornelius hummed in the back of his throat, his mind contemplating the meaning.

He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. There were just too many things to think about in one day.

He stood up and bowed to the goblin.

"Thank you for your services Gorgook. May your gold increase a hundred fold. I look forward to doing business with you in the future." The goblin also stood and bowed, a clear sign of respect.

"It was pleasant serving you Mr. Grey. May your wealth grow bountifully." They bid each other goodbye, and Cornelius found himself walking down the strait corridor he had come from. Mr. Thomas was in the lobby waiting for him, his eyes a light with curiosity.

"So how did it go?" He asked as they walked out of the building and onto the stretch of road.

"It was…enlightening to say the least. To be honest, I just want to lie down. I've had too many mind enlightenments for one day and I just need some time to let everything sink in." He looked over at Mr. Thomas, and watched the understanding in his face even as he himself felt the fatigue in his body.

"I imagine so, what with finding out you're a wizard and a bit of your personal heritage. We'll pick another day to explore Diagon Alley. You can sleep in one of the rooms in the Leaky Cauldron." Cornelius just nodded and followed the man through the crowd, and back to a familiar brick wall.

Ten minutes later Cornelius could be found peacefully asleep in room 9, his shoes off and the rest of his clothes on. The winged serpent on his ring swirled around for a moment before getting comfortable, and seemingly going to sleep with a contented sigh.

Thanks for reading and if you like it, please review so I know that it is worthy of an update. The more people review, the more others will won't to read this.


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